The Professional

Lauren Fleshman finds herself in Oregon.

She tried the obsessive focus, and it made her miserable. Now she runs fewer miles than in college, but makes more of them. She cross-trains and focuses on strengthening exercises. She relies on her chiropractor and embraces massage, acupuncture, yoga, sports psychology and even applied kinesiology. Her holistic approach also leans, heavily, on happiness away from running. With all these pieces in place, she says, "It's almost like I get 10 [times] out of one workout."

Last March, when the stress reaction in her foot had prevented her from running for four months, she told Rowland she wanted to break out of the pattern she seemed stuck in by running the New York City Marathon. Rowland's opinion was unequivocal: "It's just about the stupidest thing she could do if what she wants is to be running the 5K at the Olympics," is Rowland's recollection of his reaction. He talked her into running track last summer, and she talked him into the marathon.

Patience and faith in Rowland paid off. By September, Fleshman had run 15:00.57, her second-fastest 5,000m ever, and made the world championships team. Racing women with PRs well south of the American record, she placed seventh. Nine weeks later she ran 2:37:23 at New York. "I'd like [Fleshman] to have done the training without having actually done the race," Rowland says. "[That was] very beneficial from a physiological perspective. Was it worthwhile? We'll soon find out."

The morning after visiting her at home, I meet Fleshman for a run. On the short drive to Dorris Ranch, a hazelnut orchard near her home, we talk about Ken Kesey. She's reading his novel Sometimes a Great Notion. His lush depictions of Oregon speak to her love of nature.

Fleshman wears a thick wool headband and has a bulky Garmin strapped on her wrist. We start out slowly, jogging past rows of gnarled filbert trees. Their trunks erupt into tangled bouquets of lichen-coated branches, forming tunnels that evoke Middle Earth. She says she's also reading a lot of youth fiction. A publisher saw her website, AskLaurenFleshman.com, and contacted her about writing something for adolescents. She'd like to, but isn't sure what–or when–she would write.

Fleshman launched her website in 2009 while her navicular healed. It chronicles her career in painfully personal detail, flourished with outrageous metaphors and a blogger's irreverence. She also interacts at length with her readers. Her human biology major helps her answer their questions: 275 words on avoiding sickness, 480 on navigating puberty, 600 on eating disorders. The conversations continue at length in the comments.

We circle the orchard at a conversational pace, dodging mud puddles and discussing writing. Until recently, writing reminded Fleshman of school work; then she picked up Haruki Murakami's memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running and read the first chapter right there, in the middle of a bookstore. "He converted me to writing the way I try to convert people to running," she says. She identified with his passion.

She formulates her posts on the run, turning a topic over in her head until she finds a resolution. When she finally sits down and writes, she doesn't move until completing the piece. "I've had to go out for runs at 7 o'clock at night because I got so engrossed," she tells me later. "I was enjoying that more than I could imagine enjoying a run." These posts provide a raw look into an elite athlete's mind. They also endearingly suggest something she learned from Murakami: There's a shared experience with running, no matter your pace. From the "gremlins" in her calves to a pre-race list of excuses that builds in her head, Fleshman battles the same demons we all do. She just describes them in more colorful detail.

Today's run was supposed to be two 10-minute segments with a short walk in between, part of a gradual progression toward regular training. With 3 minutes remaining, though, she apologizes and asks if we can stop. Her leg has tightened, so we walk back to the car. Her writing addresses a lot of frustration like this. I ask if it serves a therapeutic role. "Definitely," she says quickly. "I looooove over-thinking." The writing helps focus her active mind. Paired with a healthy appreciation for the mental side of the sport, it's become a powerful tool.

Fleshman has a concise definition of Professional. "A commitment to pursuing excellence," she tells me. "That would define a professional, especially in a sport where so many people don't make any money."

She's actually one of the lucky few making a career racing on the track. Nike signed her out of college, and her current deal extends through this year. She sees fewer athletes getting that same opportunity today. "The direction our sport has been going has really screwed a lot of aspiring runners," she says. "Their careers are ending before they should."